Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.
Hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig.
The expedition of my violent love outrun the pauser, reason.
Britain is A world by itself, and we will nothing pay For wearing our own noses.
The prince of darkness is a gentleman!
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. -Sonnet 73